Storm Over The Land*

The only verified photo of Lincoln at Gettysburg November 19, 1863 wasn’t discovered until 1952 in the National Archives by archivist Josephine Cobb. She suspected he could be spotted in the crowd scene. Sure enough, an extreme enlargement made Lincoln visible. pic.twitter.com/og7kcGJPoY

— Lincoln Belongs To The Ages (@Mr_Lincoln) November 19, 2025

Good speech:

[F]rom these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they here gave the last full measure of devotion that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

...nice and short.  Five score and six years later (video):

“Come on down, Pete,” Bean coached, his eye on the rate-of-descent gauge. Bean knew that Conrad must not descend too slowly while they were this high up; it would cost too much fuel. “Two hundred feet, coming down at three,” Bean said. “Need to come on down.” 

“Okay,” Conrad answered. In the simulator, he had always waited until they were down to 100 feet or so before arresting the last bit of forward speed and starting the final, vertical descent. But some instinct now prompted him to level off early. It was the best decision he made, because within moments, his view of the surface began to blur. Intrepid was kicking up a tremendous amount of dust, far more than Armstrong and Aldrin’s movies had suggested. The dust shot away from him in bright streaks, rushing to the horizon. 

“Ninety-six feet, coming down at six. Slow down the descent rate,” Bean called quickly, urgently. 

The dust blanket thickened. Conrad could see nothing but streaks, with a few rocks sticking up here and there. He had no idea whether there were any craters directly underneath him, but he would have to take his chances. 

“Lookin’ real good,” said Bean, his eyes glued to the gauges. “Fifty feet, cornin’ down. Watch for the dust.” Bean didn’t see the dust storm already raging outside his window. 

Still Intrepid crept downward. Conrad’s eyes flicked back and forth between the window and the instruments. It was absolutely the worst way to have to fly, with his attention split, but he had no choice. The gauge that was supposed to display lateral motion seemed to be broken, forcing him to look outside to make sure he wasn’t drifting sideways or, even worse, backwards. 

“Thirty feet, coming down at two,” Bean said. 

“Plenty of gas, babe, plenty of gas . . . .” 

“Thirty seconds,” warned Jerry Carr in mission control. Bean answered, “He’s got it made!”

Conrad was now flying entirely by instruments. He had planned to wait until touchdown to shut off the engine, but suddenly, he saw the blue glow of the Contact Light and instinctively his hand went to the ENGINE STOP button, and Intrepid fell the last few feet to the dust with a firm thump. 

Conrad had logged a hundred seconds of stick time—the only real flying he would get on Apollo 12—but they had required every ounce of experience from twenty years of piloting. He had landed on target; he was sure of that. And just now his friend and former student was slapping him on the back, saying, “Good landing, Pete! Out-stand-ing, man!”

About five hours later, the intrepid voyagers would find themselves tidying up around Ōceanus procellārum.

What day...

* Ref: Storm Over The Land: A Profile of the Civil War by Carl Sandburg